Los Angeles daily herald., 1887-08-15
MYRTLE WREATHS.
Thoughts ON Mans Last
Resting Place.
TRACINGS ON TOMBSTONES.
A Ramble in the City of the Dead
Impressions and Refiec-
tiOns Of a Visitor.

tiOns Of Visitor.
There is little cemetery on the
brow of one Of the hills which wall in
the western boundary of the city that
never fails to attract the attention of
those whose inclinations, whether Of
business or mere Sightseeing brings
them in its vicinity. Seen as HER-
AID reporter saw it yesterday, with
its alban pillars and monuments re-
hecting back the CLEANS of the golden
sunlight, it presents a very entranc-
ing sight. and vending his way thither
and passing through the small wicket
gate which marks the entrance, he
stood in a few moments in the city of
the dead. 1t was almost impossible
to realize the situation, everything
around seemed SO full of life and Wig
or. Carolling their hymns of praise
to their Creator, birds of beautiful plu-
mage fitted to and fro and sweet
scented flowers uplifted their petals
and filed the air with delightful
fragrance as they reveled in the life
giving draughts showered down by the
orb of day. Waited across the breeze
came the echoes from the city which
lay beneath, teeming with its load of
throbbing vitality and in the distance
was to be seen the blue waters of the
mighty Pacific with its foam-tipped
waves dashing themselves to pieces
on the rock-fringed coast. It was
essentially day of life-a day when
one could realize the pleasures of
existence in our sunny southern
country and when one would have
unhesitatingly replied to the old old
problem "Yes, indeed, life is worth
the living" Covered with the mantle
OF this scene of vigor, slumbering
peacefully in that last long rest, lay
the bodies of those who had played
their part in the worlds history and
then solved that problem which death
alone can unravel. Perchance some
of them had stood even
on the same ground as
the writer and gazed upon
q similar scene, in the full flush of
health and strength. And now-most
of them forgotten, their memory faded
into oblivion, there they lay an inn
pressive reminder of the fate which
will irrevocably overtake US all. 1t in
even as Caedmon sang in the early
days of Christianity as he stood in the
halls of the then uncivilized warriors of
Britain and taught them that new re-
ligion which was enlightening Christ
endom. Life" he said, ''is but as
the flight of sparrow through hall
at even-tide. 1t enters at one door,
tarries for moment in the light and
then flying forth from the other, van
ishes into the wintry darkness from
whence it came. So tarries for mo
ment the life of man in our sight, but
what is before it, what after it We
We know not"
The inscriptions on the head-stones
told their own sad tale. Side by side
with one who had eked out an exist
ence extending beyond the scriptural
allotment of three score and ten, one
read the now nearly faded lettering
which bespoke the resting-place of
one who was but child. Called
away e'er even what we call life-that
is the realization of our rexistence-had
begun, it was notable instance of
that powerful influence of which we
wot not. Strange and paradoxical
does it seem to us in our narrow
channels of thought that u
human being should be created
to be called out of existence again
without even the knowledge Of its
presence on this mortal stage. And
as the writer wandered from tomb
stone to tombstone reading the brief
notices which merely revealed the
identity of those who lay beneath, his
attention was attracted to little pro-
cession which had entered and was
slowly vending its way along
the beaten paths which lead
from grave to grave. 1t re-
quired no interpreter to explain its
presence the e. Borne by stalwart
men, encased within the narrow linn
its of an enshrouding coffin, all that
was left OF what but few days previ-
Gus burned with the fire of vitality, but
now was naught but the mere ashes
of its former state, was carried toward
the newly-dug grave which yawned
for its reception. Grief-stricken
mourners followed in its wake, and as
the little group stood on the brink Of
that pit which would soon hide for
ever all traces of the soulless frame
before them, it was heartrending
scene. The low, solemn intona-
tions of the padre reciting the
prayers prescribed for the burial of
the dead were at times deafened by
the outpouring sobs of distress which
welled up from a mothers broken
heart, and as the awe-inspiring words
"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes'' were
proclaimed, and the little coffin was
lowered into its resting-place the
sight of that parent. bowed down by
the deep sorrows of affliction was one
tn t would make "the angels weep"
Thud, went the earth, with sicken-
ing sound as it reached the coffin, and
a few minutes later a mound of clay
hid from mortal view every trace Of
the fresh young flower which an Al
mighty power had seen fit to Gull ere
it had even had time to blossom forth
in the garden of life in which it had
been placed
Naval Notes.